


Bottom of My Heart

by lellabeth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author regrets nothing, Barebacking, Bottom Phil Coulson, Clint Needs a Hug, D/s, D/s 'verse, Dirty Talk, M/M, Phil Needs a Hug, We all need hugs, phil feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lellabeth/pseuds/lellabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay,” he hears, and his head snaps up. Clint’s face is flushed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.</p><p>“You wouldn’t mind? Fucking me, I mean?”</p><p>He watches Clint’s throat contract from the force of his swallow. “I’d love to, actually.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottom of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> this is shameless and I'm not sorry. Big hugs to CG for looking over it for me!

Phil’s fingers hover over the letters of his laptop keyboard.

He doesn’t know how to put what he wants into words, doesn’t know how to spill his insides without making people recoil from the mess of it all. He’s always been an outcast at best, a scarlet smear in a world of black and white. Words like  _unnatural freak_ and _broken_ and  _impossible_  are so heavy on his shoulders that he’s sure even Atlas would bow under them, the venom they were spat with still stinging like acid on his skin. The agency he’d tried to sign up with wouldn’t even accept his application - he’d been candid and they’d returned it with a letter explaining that his tastes were ‘unpalatable to their clientele’, and his eyes had blurred with tears before he’d even reached the bottom.

He feels like a trapped nerve, stifled and writhing, crushed by the weight of his own bones. It’s been the same all his life. There has never been a single encounter where he hasn’t had to lie, hasn’t had to tuck words between his teeth and hope their sharp edges stayed hidden. He’s pretended to find fulfilment, to find pleasure, completion. He’s pretended his partners haven’t left him feeling emptier and more adrift than before.

The cursor on his screen blinks in judgement.

 _My tastes are unusual,_ he writes,  _so I’m looking for someone with an open mind,_ and clicks all the boxes to complete his profile.

He fists his hands and refuses to let himself hope. Dominants are supposed to be commanding and all-powerful, able to take control of any partner and make them submit. They’re supposed to woo their sub softly but fuck them hard, showing them who is boss.

And therein lies the problem.

Phil wants to give orders and he wants to be submitted to. He wants a sub of his own to take care of, to protect and value above all else. None of that is all that strange, though it’s rare to find a Dom whose tastes run so close to sub-worship.

What makes him so unusual is the pure need deep inside his stomach and pitted at the base of his spine. It isn’t the Dominant way. It isn’t how relationships work, he knows, but he can’t tamp down the outright craving he has, a whole part of himself that has always been denied.

He didn’t expect anything to come of the online match-up service.

He hears nothing for three weeks, each added day a thorn pushing into his skin.

And then one morning, he pulls up his email inbox to see a subject of  _You have a match!_ and opens the email to find gray eyes and the username Hawkeye71, and hope is a tidal wave he has no hope of not drowning in.

**

They exchange several emails full of polite small talk before Phil gives Hawkeye71 (who is called Clint, a name Phil didn’t know sat perfectly on his tongue until today) his phone number.  _Call me at 10pm_ , he adds. As the clock ticks from 9:59 over to 10 that night, his phone rings. He smiles.

When he answers the call, he hears a sharp intake of breath before a short pause. Then a voice, deep and rough but still sweet and shy, and it brings out every protective instinct Phil has. “Hello, sir.”

“Hi, Clint. How are you?”

“Okay,” he says, and then another second of silence. “Nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

“I want you to like me, sir.”

Phil closes his eyes. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken liberties—”

“You shouldn’t worry because I already like you, Clint.”

Another short second of silence, and then “Yeah?” in a gentle tone that verges on disbelieving. It makes Phil’s heart squeeze.

“We haven’t talked much, of course, but I like everything I know of you.”

“Thank you,” Clint says. He sounds so earnestly grateful that Phil wants to shower him in compliments and reassurance. Instead he settles for asking about Clint’s day and slumps down onto his bed as he listens to the other man talk quietly about his job and his archery hobby.

Maybe, just maybe, this can work.

**

Their first date takes place at Phil’s house. It’s the best option given the need for privacy that’s involved in the establishing of a D/s partnership, the defining of limits and boundaries. Clint had seemed especially pleased about the idea - Phil has noticed his shyness on more than one occasion in their nightly phone calls, and he hopes he can set the man at ease quickly tonight.

Phil’s nervous, too. He knows Clint’s name is already scrawled over a part of his bruised heart, and he doesn’t want the ink to slip away. He also knows that it’s his job to reassure Clint and make him feel comfortable, so he sets his own anxiety aside and concentrates on the pasta dish he’s making that Clint had mentioned as his favorite way back during their first phone call.

When Clint arrives, Phil is left almost breathless. Clint is dressed in dark jeans and a tight button down, his head ducking shyly as soon as his eyes meet Phil’s. He’s cradling a bottle of wine in his hands and he passes it over to Phil with a smile.

“Come on in,” Phil says as he takes it, stepping back so Clint can step over the threshold. He smells like something dark and rich with spice, and Phil can’t resist kissing his cheek. “You look lovely.”

Clint looks surprised before he bites his lip to hide a smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Phil ushers him into the kitchen while the dish is finished. He feels a tingle deep in his belly when Clint blushes as Phil tells him what he’s cooking.

“You remembered.”

“I try to remember everything you tell me about yourself.”

“Me too,” Clint says, licking his lips. “I want to please you.”

Phil reaches up to brush Clint’s hair off his forehead. “You have. You do.”

This time, Clint doesn’t try to hide his smile.

They talk quietly over dinner, both aware of the conversation that awaits them for dessert. When both plates are cleared and Clint has complimented his cooking for the fifth time, Phil carefully takes his hand before he speaks.

“Are you ready to talk about the potential for something between us?”

Clint’s hand feels cold and small in Phil’s. “You still want it?”

Phil blinks, confused. “Of course. Do you?”

“Yes,” Clint says back immediately. “I just… wasn’t sure you would. After meeting me, I mean.”

Phil strokes his thumb across Clint’s knuckles. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re polite and respectful, and you’re an intelligent conversational partner. You’re also beautiful.”

Clint takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to argue with Phil. Instead, he closes his eyes for a second and wraps his hand more tightly around Phil’s. “Thank you, sir. I… I’m not used to Doms like this.”

“Like what?” Phil asks softly.

“Nice, I guess. Kind. You’ve already asked more about me tonight than other Doms have after months or even years. You see me as a person.” Clint drops his eyes to the table. “It’s hard for me sometimes, the submission. It can be difficult for me to give over that full control when I don’t fully trust the person I’m with. I know that’s not… I know Doms don’t like that, but I want you to know I don’t feel that way with you. I already trust you. I feel like you’ll take care of me and not just see me as a possession.”

Phil brings Clint’s fingers to his mouth, kisses them each in turn. “If we do this, you will be mine, Clint. Mine to protect and care for, mine to look after and shelter. But you’ll be yours, too; you’ll still belong to yourself, and I’ll belong to you just as much. I guess you remember my profile, how I said I needed someone with an open mind. I do run differently to most other Doms, you’re right. I believe a sub isn’t a right but a privilege, an honor. It isn’t about me taking everything and giving you nothing back. Your submission isn’t something you owe to me, it’s a gift for you to give as you choose. I respect that. You will always be safe with me, I promise you. As for the control aspect… I, well, I.” He tightens his hand around Clint’s, looking for some reassurance of his own. “I like to be in control, but differently. I like to tell you what to do, but I like  _you_ to be the one doing it. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Not really. I’m sorry, sir.”

“No, don’t be. Thank you for being honest with me.” Phil knows he’s just going to have to come out and say it, even if it makes him feel like a thousand ants are crawling over his skin. He straightens up, looks Clint right in the eye. “I want to tell you how to touch me. I want to tell you how to kiss me, how to suck me. I want to tell you how to open me up, when to snap your hips and when to slow down and soften it up. I want you deep inside me, any way I tell you to. I want you to fuck me, Clint.”

The room is silent when he stops speaking. Clint looks something close to stunned, and Phil isn’t surprised. He hasn’t ever heard of a Dom who asks his sub to be the top, and the few experiences he’s had asking his own previous subs to do so unveiled words like knives spitting from their tongue before they asked to break things off.

Phil doesn’t know if he could bear it if Clint did the same.

He breathes deeply, trying to fight off the claws of panic digging into his chest. If Clint leaves, Phil will never again see his shy smile or hear the way his voice goes quiet when he’s on the verge of falling asleep. If he leaves, Phil will never get to know the blessing of Clint submitting to him.

If Clint leaves, Phil will be completely alone.

Again.

“Okay,” he hears, and his head snaps up. Clint’s face is flushed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

“You wouldn’t mind? Fucking me, I mean?”

He watches Clint’s throat contract from the force of his swallow. “I’d love to, actually.”

Relief is liquid, slipping through his veins and setting his whole body alive, and for a moment he thinks he might even cry. Years, decades, of a feeling like a square peg in a world full of circular spaces, like a jigsaw piece with bent edges. And now this beautiful, wonderful man is sitting before him and making every dream he’s told himself he isn’t allowed to have come true.

“Thank you,” he says, and he wonders if Clint can hear the sheer gratitude in his voice. “Shall we talk limits, then?”

“No humiliation,” Clint says first, his hand spasming around Phil’s. “Don’t— please don’t say I’m dirty or a whore or anything like that. Don’t laugh at my body or make comments about it if they’re nasty. I can’t take things like that.”

“I’d never say anything like that, Clint. Not to anyone, but especially not to you. I want to make you feel worshiped.”

“How are you even real?” Clint asks. They both laugh, breaking up any remaining tension in the room. They go over the standard limit list carefully, and Phil is pleased to note all of Clint’s hard limits coincide with his. He has to stop himself from smiling when he listens to Clint list come-play and dirty talk as two of his favorites, though.

By the time they’re finished with the list, Phil is almost overwhelmed by how happy he feels. He and Clint sit side-by-side on his small couch, arms touching and hands still caught up together, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so happy. When Clint leaves to catch the cab Phil has called for him, they kiss.

Clint’s lips feel like sunshine.

**

Their second date is equally as good, as is their third and fourth. Clint is still shy, but Phil can sense that the other man is making an effort to let him in and see beneath the veneer he keeps up. Their fifth date brings a debate on the topic of subs’ right to work without permission from a Dom. Clint is quiet but passionate as he talks about the importance of a sub having their own identity and means of supporting themselves. He’s intelligent, giving thoughtful, well-formed answers to every question Phil asks, and Phil feels a small spark of pride for Clint every time he makes a point that leaves Phil stumped for a response. He can tell Clint’s proud of himself, too. At the end of the date, Clint takes Phil’s hand and says thank you, and Phil knows what he means. For valuing his opinion, for treating him like an equal and not someone incapable of having their own thoughts. Phil just kisses his palm.

It takes a while before they progress past hand-holding or hugs. Phil knows that Clint is wary and Clint has outright told him that he’s had bad experiences in the past, so Phil is determined to take things slowly and make sure Clint knows that his interest doesn’t start and end with sex. Phil likes everything he learns about Clint and he isn’t shy about telling him so. Clint gets this almost stunned look on his face each time, fidgeting with his fingers in a way that tells Phil he hasn’t heard those things in relation to him before. He assumes it will fade in time and with reassurance - he knows Clint is insecure.

It isn’t until their eighth date that Phil learns just how deep it goes, though.

They’ve just eaten a dinner of Bahn Mi, cooked by Clint and devoured by them both. Phil’s slumped on the sofa, because maybe that third helping was a mistake after all, and Clint refuses to stop fretting over dirty dishes or getting Phil a drink. He knows that some subs have an innate need to serve in a domestic setting, but Clint has never made any mention of it to him.

“Come and sit down?” he asks, extending one arm along the back of the couch.

Clint shuffles over to him, eyes downcast. He sits next to Phil but doesn’t relax, his body one tense line against the softness of the cushions.

Phil strokes Clint’s shoulder with his fingertips. “What’s going on?”

“I was trying to get a headstart on the dishes, that’s all.”

“Things are clean enough. For now, I just want to hold you a while.”

Clint leans back into Phil’s hold, still sitting so straight his spine must ache. His hands are crossed at the wrists, his fingers clasped together, and Phil has a sudden realization of what’s happening.

It makes him feel sick.

“Clint,” he starts, gently, because he is walking on glass tiles in steel-toed boots, “you don’t have to sit in a presenting position.”

Clint’s face falls, screws into something like hurt before he turns away. “I can do it.”

“I know you  _can_. But it’s just us here. You don’t have to.”

Clint doesn’t move.

Phil tugs his shoulder, just softly, but it’s clearly the wrong thing to do. Clint turns to him, and his expression can only be described as aching.

“Tell me what’s going on, sweetheart.”

“I want to be good for you, sir.”

“You’ve been nothing but perfect,” Phil says, but Clint is shaking his head before he’s even finished speaking.

“If I was good, if I was better, you’d want me.”

Phil pauses then, because he wants Clint more than he has ever wanted anything else and he can’t understand why Clint would think otherwise. “Of course I want you.”

Clint shakes his head again. Phil sees a glimmer of wetness in his eyes when they catch the light, and it makes his heart seize. “If you wanted me, you’d have…”

Oh.

“You think I don’t want you because I haven’t tried for anything physical?”

Clint nods.

“I wanted to get to know you, Clint. I wanted to understand you as a person before I tried to understand you as my sub. I told you before, your submission means the world to me. I want to be deserving of it, that’s all. I see you as more than someone who I’ll scene with. I see you as someone who will be next to me in my bed, who’ll eat dinner with me every night. I’m sorry if those things don’t sound exciting to you, but that’s what I picture. You, with me, making my life better. Even the boring parts.” He takes Clint’s hand in his own, tracing the lines of his palm. He wishes he could read them, to see the future for them, but he’s never been good at seeing what’s right in front of him. “I value you, I promise you. And I want you. I’m sorry you felt like I didn’t.”

Clint is staring at him, mouth slightly open, his eyes wide.

“You can’t think I don’t want you, Clint. That would be impossible. To know you is to want you, in every aspect.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever thought that way.” He can hear the layers of betrayal and bitterness and yearning in Clint’s tone, and he grips the hand in his own tighter.

“Then I’m lucky, because I get to keep you all to myself.”

Finally,  _finally_ , Clint’s body begins to unfurl, like a flower finally feeling sunlight after endless frost. He presses his head into Phil’s arm and looks at Phil’s face. Phil lets himself be open, hopes he’s showing whatever Clint needs to see.

When Clint smiles, it knocks the breath from Phil’s chest.

“I want to keep you, too,” he says.

Phil doesn’t let go of his hand all night.

**

Their first scene takes place on a Saturday. Phil tells Clint that he wants the whole day free to make sure things go well, and Clint blushes and buries his face in Phil’s sweater, hands grasping at Phil’s sides. Phil knows Clint well enough to know this is somewhere between excitement and gratitude, so he kisses Clint’s head and gives him some space to work through being worthy of consideration.

“What’s your safeword?”

They’d had a long conversation about it the week before. Clint had told him he was fine with the traffic light system, but Phil wanted him to have a word that had special meaning to him. “I want something that’s important to you, Clint. Your safeword is your safety net. You say it and everything stops. If you make it something that has meaning for you, you’ll understand its weight and my respect for it.”

“Bullseye,” Clint tells him. Phil kisses his forehead again 

“I want you to use that word if at any point you feel uncomfortable, unsure or unsafe. If you use it, I’ll immediately stop whatever’s happening and give you space or hold you close, whatever works best for you. I won’t be annoyed if you use it, I won’t be mad. I’ll be proud of you for knowing your limits and not letting me push past them, okay?”

Phil needs to make it clear, because Clint’s already told him that he’s had safewords ignored before. The betrayal of it makes Phil’s stomach twist, but all he can do is make it so Clint knows that his safeword is law here.

“Okay. And if I want things to pause but not necessarily stop, I can just say target.”

“You’re being such a good boy already,” Phil whispers. “I’ll give you instructions to follow. They will not be tricks. There will be no point at which I try to trip you up so you’ll accidentally disobey me or fail. My joy comes from your submission, not from my dominance.” He trails one hand down Clint’s arm, feeling the gooseflesh that follow his touch. “I want you undressed and kneeling on my bed in two minutes time.”

Clint moves quickly, pulling his t-shirt over his head before he’s even reached the bedroom door. Phil sees tanned skin and shadows caused by flexing muscle. He swallows hard. When he gets into the bedroom, he’s instantly half-hard at the sight of Clint on bent knees with his head bowed, wrists crossed behind his back.

“Look at you.” He walks closer, runs the tips of his fingers across Clint’s broad shoulders. The muscles there are almost sharp enough to cut, cushioned steel shifting under his skin with every breath. It’s heady, this feeling of knowing he has this strong man under his control, that Clint could easily overpower him but won’t. There are scars all over Clint’s chest, and he tries to ignore the cataloging of  _cigarette burn, whip lash, stab wound_. He touches Clint all over, feeling the divots and crevices that mar his skin but do nothing to stop him being the most beautiful thing Phil’s ever seen. He teases Clint’s nipple with his teeth, kisses each cinnamon freckle across his chest. He pushes Clint to lie on the bed and then runs his mouth right over Clint’s ribcage, feeling each dip and rise. By the time he reaches Clint’s ridged hipbones, Clint is squirming underneath his attention.

“You’re gorgeous,” Phil tells him, voice raspy, and Clint’s hips thrust into empty air.

Phil can’t have that.

He mouths his way across to Clint’s lap, tasting all he can reach. He teases his balls gently with his teeth, licks the underside of Clint’s cock. He works his tongue into the slit at the top and suckles the head, all sloppy and wet.

“ _Please_ , sir.”

“Put your hand in my hair. Keep your hips still but be loud for me.”

Clint takes his words as a personal challenge. When Phil finally swallows down half of Clint’s cock in one go, Clint lets out something close to a sob. Phil can feel the sheer need thrumming under Clint’s skin but he keeps his hips perfectly still, so Phil rewards him by swallowing until the head of Clint’s cock is butting against his throat. Clint is making these sounds like he’s utterly  _wrecked_  and Phil can’t remember ever being so hard.

“Get the lube out of the top drawer for me.”

Phil hears Clint’s hands fumble around for a minute before the lube is being passed to him, and he applies it liberally to his fingers. He holds it up so Clint can see the slippery gleam of it in the light before he sticks his ass in the air and starts prepping himself.

“Are you—oh, god, you are, fuck, sir, you’re so…” Phil grunts around the sensitive head of Clint’s cock and the man dissolves into nothing more than high-pitched whines. Phil moves onto two fingers and then three, then climbs onto Clint’s lap. Clint’s dick is spit-slick and sticky with pre-come, and Phil is beyond glad he had them both tested so he could feel Clint bare. He presses the tip of Clint against himself and sinks down slowly, watching through half-lidded eyes as Clint’s whole face contorts.

“Fuck me gently, honey.”

Clint moans and bucks his hips up, just once, before Phil swats him on the hip. His thrusts are more gentle after that, keeping himself deep inside Phil.

“So good, sir,” Clint says, and Phil hums in reply.

Phil watches Clint’s skin shine in the low light of the bedroom, feels the pressure of Clint inside him, the fullness when so much of his life has been empty. “Touch me.”

Clint’s fingers are rough and callused and they tremble, but he feels every part of Phil he can reach. His touch is slow and almost thoughtful, like he’s savoring each new area he discovers. “Just like that,” Phil praises, and Clint moans long and low and loud. It’s not long before pleasure is spiking up Phil’s spine and he slumps forward onto Clint’s chest, mouthing at Clint’s ear with his teeth.

“Wanna feel you fuck me hard now. Wanna feel you tomorrow and the next day, want to sit down and think of you under me, fucking me. Want to think of my sub balls-deep inside me, letting me control him and tell him how to do me.”

Clint’s making these whimpering sounds and Phil slides his mouth over to taste them, pressing his lips against Clint’s and slipping his tongue into Clint’s mouth just as Clint snaps his hips up. He brushes against a spot that makes Phil’s whole body convulse and seize, and he barely has time to say, “do that again,” before Clint is placing his hands on Phil’s hips and using his whole body to fuck Phil hard. He hammers over Phil’s prostate until Phil is nothing more than a tense, shivering thing.

“Clint,  _fuck_ , put your hand on me. On my cock, nice and tight, good and fast for me. Make me come on you.”

Clint’s hand is sweaty when it grasps him, his thumb smearing the sticky pre-come over the length of Phil’s dick. His pace is punishing, his grip bruising, and Phil can’t get enough of it.

“You’re gonna make me come, beautiful. Gonna come all over that chest of yours.”

Clint just whines and somehow fucks him even harder. Phil will feel it for days afterward, and he relishes each bite of Clint’s bones against his. Clint twists his hand, does something magical with his fist, and ribbons of cum hit Clint’s chest. Phil is lost to sensation, floating and spinning, only Clint’s inside and around him to keep him tied to the earth.

When Phil comes back to himself, Clint’s whole body is straining with the need to come. His thrusts are still hard but jerky now, like he’s right on the knife’s edge.

Phil kisses Clint hard, then pulls back just enough to tell him to come. He feels Clint’s whole body stiffen, his mouth fall open and his eyes screw shut. Clint is so, so beautiful, and he’s Phil’s.

Phil’s heart feels too big for his chest. He kisses Clint’s cheeks, his lips, feels Clint’s harsh breaths against his skin and feels alive in a way he never has before.

“Going to keep you forever,” Phil says as Clint’s eyes flutter open.

Clint looks at him all over, searching Phil’s face. “Please do, sir.”

Phil kisses Clint’s lips softly.

A promise.

“Can I hold you, sir?” Clint asks.

Phil just leans further into him, sighing when he feels Clint’s strong arms surround him.

He knows there are still issues to be worked out. He knows that Clint is vulnerable and hurting, but Phil also knows that he would never do anything to hurt Clint. Phil intends to treat Clint like the miracle Phil he’s been for him. Clint will never feel unworthy again.

Phil shivers again, because he’s wanted this for  _years_. He’s thought of himself as wrong and somehow lesser because of his desires, but Clint swept in and changed everything. Phil accepted every part of Clint and somehow, Clint helped Phil to help him accept himself.

So this is how it feels to get everything you ever wanted.

Clint kisses his head, and Phil is glad that he’d never found what he was looking for before.

Clint is worth the wait.


End file.
